


Unstained

by emungere



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Nightmares, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-15
Updated: 2003-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya has disturbing dreams. Yohji gets falling-down drunk. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unstained

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chrissy for pointing out the Smallville tentacle porn story that got me thinking about this, for coming up with the idea for the Aya/Yohji part of the story, and for betaing when it was all done. She is the bestest.

Aya knows he's dreaming. It doesn't help. 

He knows it's not real, but it feels real. He knows he should be able to make it stop, but he can't.

Masafumi's mansion is on fire again. Aya is right in the middle of it. Again. He's alone this time. No Yohji, Ken, or Omi. None of the Schreient women. Just him and, somewhere in the flames, Masafumi Takatori.

He walks right through the fire, and it doesn't hurt. Flames lick at his skin and feel gentle and warm even as they burn his clothes away, leaving him naked but for his sword. Something wet and slick winds around his ankle.

He looks down and slices it away, but there's another to take its place, and Masafumi's mad face leers at him out of the smoke. Tentacles wind around his upper arms, replaced no matter how many times he cuts through them until one wraps around his sword and pulls it easily from his hand. Masafumi's been playing with him the whole time. Could have had him from the beginning. As he has him now.

Slick but not slimy, warm and strong, they wrap around his waist, arms, legs, and lift him off the ground. He has no leverage to resist now. Helpless, hanging in this thing's grasp.

Masafumi's face is inhuman, his fixed smile like the permanent grin of a skull. His body is naked and gleaming with sweat. He watches Aya in silence, and Aya can feel the weight of his regard, the plans behind it.

Tentacles curl in spirals around his limbs, each one controlled as precisely as a marionette. His arms are lifted above his head. Light touches trail across his sides. He struggles, but it does no good. He can move barely an inch in any direction. His legs are slowly spread, knees bent up and out.

There is a pause to let him hang in silence, exposed, waiting for the violation he knows will come. Feeling warm puffs of air drift up from the fires around them and sweep across his skin, sensitizing it until he itches for solid touch.

He's hard long before the first slick slide along the length of his cock. He's hard, and Masafumi is laughing at him, coiling one tentacle around him, milking him until he has his head thrown back, until he is panting and cursing and trying not to beg for his own rape. It has to be rape, no matter how much he wants it, no matter that he's never once said no.

He writhes in mid-air, hips working fruitlessly, unable to get more or less no matter how he twists himself. Rippling warmth encloses his cock and brings him to the edge, only to clench around the base and stop him dead.

His legs are parted farther, and something slides up his thigh, behind his balls, touching his opening and pushing inside. Thin and sinuous, snaking into him, finding his prostate and moving against it, flicking back and forth inside him. Over and over, and he shifts and squirms towards it, away from it, and it does no good.

His eyes are closed. He's so close it's killing him. Something brushes across his nipples lightly, again and again. Something else pushes at his lips and between them. He takes it in, tasting blood and smoke and gunpowder, and sucks as it fucks his mouth.

Masafumi's tentacles thrust into his body over and over, stretching him out. His legs ache from their wide spread. He moans around the invasion of his mouth, mindless with the feel of it, with knowing there is nothing he can do.

Then it stops.

He is still filled and stretched, but the movement stops. The only touch on his cock is the pressure around the base. The tentacle in his mouth slides out to draw wet patterns on his neck. He gasps for air.

Masafumi's fixed smile turns up higher at one corner. Aya knows what he wants.

"Please," he says.

The smile widens.

One thrust inside him makes Aya's back arch and his head snap back. Tingles of pleasure spread through him. So close, so fucking *close*.

"Please." His voice is ragged. "Please finish it, finish me, let me come, please, please, please--" And his voice breaks, and the touch is back on his cock, working him fast and hard, and Masafumi fucks his mouth and his ass and laughs at him, and Aya hears his voice.

"I won."

***

Aya wakes up as he always does from those dreams; twisted in the sheets, sweating, painfully hard, hand already on his cock. It takes him seconds to finish, but it takes much longer to stop shaking.

He washes up quickly. He knows he should change the sheets. He won't be able to sleep until he does, but he doesn't want to sleep. Instead, he goes down to the kitchen to make tea.

He bends over the cup as he walks down the stairs to the basement, steam stinging his eyes. He can stay on the couch until morning.

Yohji is already there. One leg is flung over the back of the couch, and his head hangs over the arm so that he is looking directly at Aya, but upside down. He waves.

"Hi." The word stretches out and wavers. There is a stupid grin to go with it.

Aya turns around to go back to his room. It shouldn't be possible for Yohji to move that fast while he's that drunk, but he is standing beside Aya in a second, taking the tea from him and pulling him over to the couch.

"Hey no, don't leave on my account. Everything's cool, you know? Everything's good. Come on. Sit down. Sit by me."

Aya sits on the edge of the sofa. He thinks of the four nights in the past two weeks they have played out this scene. Yohji drunk and happy and affectionate, himself hung-over from poisoned dreams. He doesn't understand why he stays.

Yohji lies down abruptly, head in Aya's lap, turning onto his side and sighing. Cheek against Aya's groin, nose against his lower stomach. Aya freezes.

"Yohji..."

Yohji's arm snakes around his waist, hand under his shirt to rest on his back.

"Warm," Yohji mumbles. He shifts a little, and the movement makes Aya's cock twitch. "Tell me what's wrong," Yohji says.

"There's nothing wrong. Get off me." But he doesn't move, hardly even breathes. He badly wants Yohji to stay right where he is, warm solid anchor-weight, steadying his troubled mind.

"Mm. Something's wrong. Can tell me, y'know. Won't remember tomorrow anyway."

Either it is true, or Yohji is a very good actor. He hasn't once made mention of the time he has spent draped over Aya in the early hours of the morning. Maybe it's not so surprising. Yohji drinks to forget, after all. Or so Aya assumes. He's never bothered to ask.

He wonders how it would feel to say it out loud. He's not sure he can. Even thinking of the words makes him choke a little, bile burning the back of his throat. Nauseated and aroused at the same time.

"Can't be that bad." Yohji pats his back, fingers moving softly across his skin. "Helps to talk. Tell me."

"It won't help."

"Will so."

"Idiot. You don't even know what I'm talking about."

"So tell me."

Aya pauses with his mug touching his bottom lip, mouth open, breathing in mint steam.

"I've been dreaming about Masafumi Takatori."

He takes a sip, surprised how easy it was to say. The tea burns his tongue numb. He waits for Yohji's reaction.

"I dream about him, too. About that last fight." Yohji's voice sounds a little less muffled. He has turned to look up at Aya.

"Not like this."

"Like what?"

Their eyes meet and hold, and Yohji blinks sleepily at him, green eyes half-hidden by dark lashes.

"Sex dreams."

Yohji's eyes go gratifyingly wide. It's almost worth the sick feeling in Aya's stomach to see him so shocked. Yohji turns flat on his back, and his arm curls further around Aya's body, hand on his side just under his ribs. His mouth opens once and doesn't close.

Aya watches his pink tongue slip out to wet his lips, just a flicker. He wants to touch him there, feel the dampness left behind. It's nothing, he tells himself. It's just the dream. And if he has to want someone, better it should be Yohji.

"Tell me," Yohji says, when the silence has stretched thin and taut.

"The night the mansion burned. I'm alone with him. He..."

"What?"

"Catches me. I can't get away. Those things...wrapped around me."

Aya can't look away from Yohji's mouth.

"You liked it," Yohji says, his voice deep and rough. "I can smell it on you."

"No."

Yohji nuzzles against Aya's groin, nose against the flap of his pajamas.

Aya takes a quick breath. "Don't."

"You liked it. You came from it. Wet dream like a little boy."

"Stop it," Aya says, but his voice is breathless and sounds nothing like stop and everything like please.

"Admit it, and I'll stop."

Heated breath right through cloth to his naked cock.

"I liked it," Aya whispers, even though he knows Yohji is lying, knows he won't stop.

"You came dreaming about it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No, I... After."

He can feel Yohji's lips curve, feel the wet, heated point of his tongue at the crease of hip and thigh, soaking through fabric.

"Thinking about it when you finished. Didn't take long."

"Yes," Aya gasps. "No."

"You liked how he held you." Yohji's hand is around his wrist, closed tight. Yohji takes his tea and sets it aside. "Caught. Trapped."

Aya shakes his head, but Yohji's other hand rakes nails down his back, leaves him to take his other wrist. He tries to pull away, but Yohji's grip is as slippery and yielding as the things in his dream, going with his movements as he struggles, but never letting him free.

Yohji's head slides off his lap as he tries to stand, but a painful twist of his wrist and a move he doesn't follow puts him full-length on the couch with Yohji on top of him. Hands above his head, held in a bruising grip. Yohji's body weighing him down. He has stopped struggling, and he doesn't remember when that happened.

Yohji licks a stripe of damp heat across Aya's throat and lifts his head to look at him.

"Did you tell him no?" Yohji asks.

Aya can only shake his head.

Yohji smiles. Grinds his hips down. Aya closes his eyes and moans.

"Does that mean yes?" Drink and lust slur Yohji's words. "Does that mean please?"

Aya can't speak. His head turns from side to side, lost, seeking.

One of Yohji's hands stays around Aya's wrists, but the other moves between his legs and rubs, sliding soft cloth over his cock. His breath is harsh and hot in his throat. Yohji's legs tangle with his.

"Yeah," Yohji says, right against Aya's ear. "Should have known you'd want it like this. No wonder I never had any luck before."

Aya's hips push up into Yohji's hand. He can't make sense of the words. Yohji's never tried anything with him. He would have noticed, wouldn't he? But he can't think beyond the hand rubbing slow, teasing circles over his cock, beyond the desperate sounds coming from his own throat. Can't think, can't breathe, can only move and feel and want.

Yohji's mouth drops to his skin again, teeth high up on his neck, sucking hard. Yohji's hand shoves inside his pajamas and closes around his leaking cock. Words whispered between sucking kisses to his throat.

"I'll give you what you want," Yohji says. "What you need."

And his mouth is on Aya's, and Aya is half drunk himself with the taste of alcohol, with pleasure and rising heat. Yohji jerks him off hard, rough, fast.

Aya pulls against the hand pinning his wrists down, but not too much. Tongue fucking his mouth, Yohji's thumb smoothing over the head of his cock with every stroke. Aya closes his eyes, whimpers against Yohji's mouth as he comes, cock tender and chafed with almost too harsh a touch.

Breathing is all he can manage afterwards, Yohji kissing him slowly, hand still clenched around his wrists. Finally, Yohji lifts his head to meet Aya's eyes.

"What about you?" Aya asks him, afraid of what he might ask for, fear not stopping him from wanting it. No question that Yohji can have whatever he wants right now.

Yohji gives him a lopsided smile and shakes his head. "Too drunk. Not good for much right now." His eyes narrow, and even as booze-soaked as he is, there is still something sharp there. "I could do this better sober. Much, much better."

Aya can't get one word out in response. He feels Yohji's body all along his, feels his own come, cooling and sticky on his skin. Feels a dull ache in his wrists that will likely turn to bruises in the morning.

"What do you say?" Yohji asks. "Better than the dreams, isn't it?"

"You... You won't even remember in the morning."

Yohji shrugs. "This I might remember. Or you could remind me."

Aya closes his eyes. "Go to sleep, Yohji. Get off me and go to sleep."

Yohji releases his wrists, and Aya has to bite back a moan as the blood rushes back. Cold space where a warm body was as Yohji gets to his feet and braces himself against the couch.

"Offer stands." Yohji stumbles and grins at him. "Even if I can't."

He lurches across to the stairs and takes each step with care. Aya watches him until he disappears around the curve, but he doesn't look back.

***

Last night makes five times Aya has had the dream. Five times in two weeks. Every morning he shrugs it off and leaves it in the bedroom. He comes back to his room at night and feels it, settled in the darkness between the sheets, but at least it stays in the shadows. Today, with Yohji's offer, it's following him.

He sees Masafumi's sharp, leering eyes in the glass case of the cooler, and they turn out to be Yohji's, reflected and distorted by the phaleonopsis orchids inside. Or maybe they were his own. He opens the case and blames his shiver on the chilled air.

He thinks he's safe from Yohji, his midnight confessions forgotten. He thinks. And he's half-relieved and half-sorry, and then he catches Yohji looking at him with knowing eyes and he's half-relieved, half-afraid. Unsure. Wants to ask, can't find the words.

Yohji waits until they're alone in the shop, until Aya has bent over to pick up the broom from where Ken dropped it. Aya straightens up, and Yohji is right there, chest against his back, groin against his ass, breathing right in his ear.

"I remember," Yohji says. "I remember almost everything. I was hard on you last night." Pause. Hand on Aya's waist, but no more than that. "I'm sorry. I'm sort of an asshole when I'm drunk. I won't do anything else unless you ask."

Aya thinks he'll move away then, but he doesn't. He stands close, breathes, radiates heat.

"What would you do?" Aya asks, after whole minutes have gone by in silence.

The bell on the shop door jangles to announce a customer, and Yohji slips away without a word. Aya watches him for the rest of their shift, wanting to ask again. Wanting to know so badly that he can feel the question all over his skin. He looks down at his hands tying a bouquet with raffia and is almost surprised not to see it written there.

They close up together when it's time, working silently to clean up, bring the metal security door down, and add up their take for the day. Aya counts the bills and sets them into neat stacks to go in the safe. Then Yohji's hands are on his shoulders, and he has to put the money down because with that one touch he's lost count entirely.

"I'd tie you up," Yohji says. Soft-rough voice, heated breath over Aya's ear, on his neck. "I've got the stuff in my room right now. Silk cord, black. It'd look so pretty against your skin."

Aya's mouth is open, and he can't shut it. He breathes in shallow gasps. Heat spreads out and down from his belly to his groin.

"And?" Aya asks. He can't help it.

Yohji's hands run down his arms and close lightly on his wrists.

"And? And whatever I want," Yohji says. "Anything I want. That's the point, right? You tied up and helpless and me making you feel, making you want. That's what I'm offering."

"What if...I want you to stop?"

"You won't want me to stop."

Aya shivers and knows Yohji must feel it.

"Just say yes, and I'll make it happen," Yohji says.

"Yes," Aya whispers.

Yohji kisses his neck and straightens up. "After dinner. Eight o'clock."

He leaves, and Aya stares at the pile of money in front of him for a long time before he remembers he's supposed to be counting it.

***

All four of them eat together at the kitchen table, and Aya goes to his room afterwards. Eight comes and goes as he watches the clock.

He picks up a book and holds it close in front of his eyes, blocking out the clock, the room, everything but black letters that twist into black cords on white skin. He puts the book down. Watches the clock.

He won't go. He doesn't need this. The dreams will stop eventually.

At half past eight, he hears laughter downstairs, the sounds of good-natured argument. The front door opens and shuts, and there is silence. He pulls his knees to his chest and lets himself relax. That had to be Yohji going out for the evening, even if it is a little early for him. Temptation past.

A sharp knock on his door makes him jerk his head up and stare. It comes again, louder, impatient.

"Who is it?"

Yohji opens the door and stands in the doorway. His face is serious.

"They went to a movie. We're all alone."

"I--don't know what you're expecting from me. I never said I wanted--"

"You never had to."

Yohji holds his hand out. It reaches into a strip of light thrown by the lamp near the door, unnaturally gold-tinged. Yohji's face is in shadows. Aya can't read his expression.

He stands. Covers the distance between them with slow steps. Looks at Yohji's outstretched hand, unwavering and still. Takes it.

Yohji pulls him sharply forwards, and he stumbles, falls into Yohji's arms. Held tight, hands braced against Yohji's chest, but not pushing him away.

Yohji smiles at him and steadies him, puts an arm around his waist and guides him down the hall.

Yohji's room is clean, for once. Aya wonders if that's for him. No piles of clothes in the corners, no pizza boxes sticking out from under the bed, no beer bottles on the dresser. Just bare swept floor, clean surfaces, freshly made bed.

And in the middle of the white bedspread, a coiled pile of black rope. Aya stops dead when he sees it.

A hand in the middle of his back nudges him forward as Yohji closes the door behind them.

"Go on. Take a look."

Aya stands by the bed, hand hovering over the rope. Touching, just fingertips. It's smooth and cold. Yohji's hands are on his hips now, Yohji's cock hard against his ass.

"Yes?" Yohji asks.

He can't imagine letting anyone else do this to him. And right now, he can't imagine not letting Yohji do this to him. His muscles relax the rigid clench they've been stuck in all day, and he sways a little, leaning back into Yohji's body.

"Yes."

Yohji's hand settles over Aya's crotch, not moving, just cupping Aya's already stiffening cock.

"Tell me about your dream. Everything."

Like this, in the dim room, relieved of the intensity of Yohji's gaze, he doesn't find it so hard.

"I feel it around my ankle first. I cut through it, but there are always more of them. All over me. Legs, arms, waist. He lifts me into the air." He's getting harder as he speaks, and he knows Yohji can feel it.

"Keep going," Yohji says, and reaches past him to catch a coil of rope. He pulls it to him, letting it slither over Aya's shoulder. He tugs at the hem of Aya's shirt until it comes off over his head and drapes the rope over his skin.

"He--" Aya gasps as Yohji pulls on the rope and it moves slickly across his bare chest. "I-- He lets me hang there. Thinking. Waiting."

"Getting harder."

Aya doesn't know whether Yohji means now or in the dream, but he is right in either case.

"Yes."

Hands at his hips, pulling down sweatpants and boxers together, helping him balance as he steps out of them. Cool air on hot skin, Yohji's hand light on his cock. He forgets how to speak.

"And then?" Yohji prompts.

"He touches me." The words come out in a whisper.

One long finger trails along his cock and leaves him.

"Hands above your head," Yohji tells him.

He obeys without thinking, feeling loop after loop of soft cord wound around his wrists and up his arms. Yohji takes his wrists when it's done and guides him to kneel on the bed.

His weight rests on his forearms, head bent to touch his clasped hands. Yohji takes the two ends of rope and pulls them underneath him, between his legs. He can't follow the knots and loops, but when Yohji is done, his knees are spread wide, and he can't close them. He can only just straighten his arms, and he can sit up to meet Yohji's steady gaze. All other movement is impossible.

"Keep talking," Yohji tells him. His voice is rough, and his face is lightly flushed. He turns away after speaking and opens a drawer.

Aya kneels, legs trying to close involuntarily. The ropes hold them open, wide, exposing his dripping cock and heavy balls. He swallows. His voice comes out softly in the quiet room.

"He strokes my cock with those...things. Gets me close. Desperate. He won't let me come."

Yohji turns back to him, holding something in his hand. Aya sees only the glint of metal before the cock ring is closed around him. He flinches from the cold, arches into the stroke Yohji's hand gives him before deserting him again.

"Then?"

"Then...inside me, fucking me. Touching me. All over my skin." He stops to breathe. "In my mouth."

Yohji stands behind him, hand running up and down his back. The touch disappears and returns in a different place. One finger, slicked, directly on his hole.

"How do they feel inside you?"

"God," Aya gasps.

"How do they feel?"

"Slick, wet. Hot. Always moving, always..."

Aya hisses as the finger pushes into him, moves inside him, finds the spot that makes him gasp. It pulls out and pushes in again and again, and at some point Yohji has added another finger or maybe two; Aya can't tell anymore. He pants, open-mouthed and wanting.

The fingers leave him, and Yohji lays something down in front of him. "You know what this is?"

Long, narrow, ridged. Surprisingly realistic except for the sudden indentation before the flared base. Aya nods. He watches Yohji coat the butt plug with lube and cranes his head to keep watching when Yohji pushes him down again, ass in the air, cheeks spread by deft hands.

It slips into him easily at first, then stretches him until he has to bite his lip, then inside, held securely by his body. Yohji settles it more firmly, and it rests just against his prostate. Then a twist, and the buzz starts.

"Oh god..." Aya closes his eyes. Right against his prostate, constant steady vibration. No relief, no matter how he moves his body. He presses his hands against his face and tries to keep still, but he can't. His cock arches out from his body, no friction, no contact.

He feels the bed dip and raises his head. Yohji is kneeling close, thighs on either side of Aya's head.

Yohji unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, wipes it across Aya's mouth.

Aya licks his lips, and his mouth is open and waiting when Yohji pushes in. Hands in Aya's hair, pulling his head up and pushing it down. Filling his mouth with hot, slick flesh, filling his throat. Yohji fucks his mouth, and all the while the steady buzz in Aya's ass makes him squirm.

The thrusts go on, steady and easy, for long enough that Aya relaxes into the feeling. He sucks as much as he can, opens his throat, tightens his lips. Moans. He hears Yohji gasp and feels him stiffen. Feels his thrusts speed up, harder, though still far gentler than he expected.

Yohji strokes his cheek, hand trembling as he comes. Hot rush of fluid down Aya's throat, and he swallows and swallows and sucks gently, finishing with licks and kisses as Yohji pets his hair and lifts his face.

Yohji's eyes are so naked that Aya can only stare, overly conscious of his own swollen lips and of the blank space that's serving for his mind right now. He should have something to say to that expression on Yohji's face, yearning that has nothing to do with physical desire.

He sits up, bracing himself with his hands on Yohji's leg, and kisses him. Both of them leaning into it, Yohji's hand ruffling his hair, the other drawing down his back to press against the base of the butt plug. Aya tears his mouth away and gasps.

Yohji's voice in his ear. "He makes you beg, doesn't he? At the end, he makes you beg."

Aya nods helplessly against Yohji's shoulder, body racked with pleasure as Yohji's other hand closes on his cock.

A single click and a loosening around the base is all the warning he gets. The cock ring falls away, and Yohji is twisting the vibrator inside him, rocking it in time with his hand on Aya's cock, fast and fierce.

"I won't make you beg."

And then he doesn't hear anything but the roar of blood in his ears, pressure overflowing, and he's coming so hard he's shaking, low cries only slightly muffled by Yohji's skin.

He slumps forward, for the first time in days not seeing Masafumi Takatori's face as he lets his eyes close. Too drained to move, even to twitch when Yohji shuts off the vibrations and takes the plug out of him.

Yohji's arms are around him, holding him up.

"You okay?"

He tries to say yes, even though he's not sure it's true. It doesn't matter; nothing comes out.

The ropes loosen and fall away quickly. Too quickly for all those knots. Yohji must have cut them.

"Aya?"

Yohji's voice is insistent, and Aya manages to lift his head enough to meet Yohji's eyes. He meant to say something, but it doesn't seem necessary now. There's understanding in Yohji's face. Aya feels himself gathered close and gives up. So tired he aches with it. So grateful that he won't dream tonight. So glad to be exactly where he is.

Yohji strokes his hair and tells him things that Aya won't remember when he wakes up.

***

The smell of sandalwood and a tickling touch under his chin are the first things he is aware of when he wakes. Yohji's head is heavy on his chest, hair falling loose across Aya's skin. That explains both touch and scent, but Aya is still disoriented. He is so used to dreams that the morning-after reality feels wrong. Good, but wrong.

He touches Yohji's hair and almost smiles as Yohji grumbles and buries his face against Aya's neck. He knows he should get up. There are things to do. But he always has things to do, and he very rarely has a sleepy Yohji sprawled out on top of him.

Aya closes his eyes without looking at the clock and is asleep within minutes.

When he wakes again, it is because of Yohji's mouth on his neck.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Giving you the biggest hickey of your life," Yohji mumbles.

Aya's laughter surprises him as much as it apparently surprises Yohji. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

Yohji raises his head and looks at him. "This is not the end. I have no intention of letting you go now that I've got you." The words sound as if Yohji would like them to be a threat, but they are a shade too desperate for that.

"All right," Aya says quietly, and watches Yohji's eyes widen.

Yohji is silent for a moment before collecting himself. He nods. "Good. Glad you understand. Now, go back to sleep."

He lays his head down on Aya's chest.

"It's almost noon."

"We don't have work today."

"That's hardly the point. And I'm not tired."

"Then watch me sleep. Or stare at the ceiling. Whatever. Just don't think you're going anywhere."

Yohji's arms squeeze him gently, and one hand strokes up and down his arm.

"Why... How long?" he asks.

"How long have I wanted you?"

"Yes."

Yohji kisses his chest. "Since the first time I saw you."

"But--"

"Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

"Yohji..."

"Sleep."

He runs light fingers up Yohji's spine. "What if I don't want to sleep?"

Yohji smiles up at him, eyes still sleepy, every part of him looking relaxed and boneless. "Got something else in mind?"

"Yes."

Yohji takes his hand and kisses his wrist. It is very slightly red. Bruised, too, by the feel of it, though not enough to show.

"Want to tell me what that might be?"

"Fuck me," Aya says quietly.

And thank god Yohji doesn't ask if he's sure, doesn't ask anything at all, just kisses him. Hand in his hair tugging his head back so Yohji can suck on his neck, and Yohji lies beside him, pushing him onto his side. Hand behind his knee now, pulling it up. He doesn't have to do a damn thing but let it happen. Let Yohji have him. Right now, that's all he wants. Exactly what he wants.

Lips on his neck, over his pulse, sucking, licking, biting until that one spot is so sensitized that he twists his head away, needing a break, never wanting it to stop. Yohji's mouth follows him, and Yohji's hand strokes down his inner thigh to cup his balls and play with them gently until Aya is panting for more. Palm brushing up the underside of his cock to make him gasp and push into the touch.

The hand leaves him and comes back to leave slick trails over his skin--thighs, cock, balls, between his cheeks. Teasing until he stops thinking, until he's moving into every touch, and every breath that leaves him is nearly a moan.

"Want," he hears his voice say, sounding nothing like his voice at all. "*Please*."

Two fingers, wet with lube, at his entrance, circling, pushing, but too lightly.

"Please," he says, and there's no feeling of humiliation attached, no sense of defeat. "Please."

Inside is all he's thinking. Want, need, inside, please. Then Yohji's leg is over his hip, Yohji's body curled around his, hand on his stomach just above his cock, and Yohji is pushing slowly into him, and all Aya's breath leaves him in a rush of desperate sound.

It's not as deep as he wants it, but he loves having Yohji behind him, arms around him. Then Yohji pushes him forward just a little, not quite onto his stomach, and slides in deep. It hits him just right, and he's crying out, little wordless noises of pleasure and desire as Yohji fucks him fast and hard.

Mouth still on his neck--it really will be the biggest hickey of his life, he thinks--hands everywhere on him but where he needs them. He'd beg if he could find the breath, but he knows he doesn't need to.

Soon enough, a hand closes over his cock, and now each thrust is followed by a rough jerk, and he is caught between alternating pleasure, body surging backward and forward to meet every action and Yohji groans in his ear.

"Beautiful," Yohji tells him in a whisper. "Do it, come on, show me how much you want it." Licking his neck, soothing the almost-sting of a hundred gentle bites. "Jesus fuck, I want you. Want to fuck you, suck your cock, touch you everywhere, everything."

Yohji sounds so sincere, voice rough and needy. Aya turns his head, and Yohji kisses him just as sincerely, all the feeling in his kiss that was in his words, that has been in his eyes every time Aya has looked at him since last night. Aya doesn't know how he hid it for so long.

"Fuck me," he says into Yohji's mouth. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," and with every word, Yohji groans and shoves into him harder, and Aya can feel it building, feeling his balls tightening, cock tingling. He opens his mouth, but Yohji's mouth and tongue stifle his nearly silent moan, and Yohji slams into him, fast and frantic now, working towards his own pleasure more than Aya's, even as Aya starts to come.

Gasps and shudders and his body is out of control and Yohji's hand is still fierce on his cock as he feels Yohji's hips flex behind him, the muscles of his thighs straining. Aya smoothes a hand over Yohji's leg and licks Yohji's lips and murmurs against his mouth, nonsense words of lust.

"Come for me, want to feel it, want you to fill me up, hot and thick, oh god please," and they're hardly even his words, but hearing them from his mouth makes Yohji close his eyes and whimper. He pushes in one last time, all the way, hips flush against Aya's ass, cock twitching as Aya squeezes down. Yohji's hand across Aya's stomach now, rubbing come into his skin, Yohji's head buried against Aya's shoulder, teeth biting down as he comes.

They are both limp afterwards. Yohji wraps Aya in his arms and won't let go. Not that Aya wants him to. He puts his hand over Yohji's on his stomach, smells the sandalwood of Yohji's hair, and lets himself drift.

He expects Yohji to say something, but after a few minutes he hears soft snores. He smiles to himself and wonders how much one man can sleep.

He can't sleep anymore himself, nor is he inclined to think. That will come later, he's sure. Thoughts and second thoughts and maybe shame. Probably shame. But not now, and if he's lucky, none of that will matter. Yohji won't let him go.

A knock at the door that's more like an assault breaks him out of his mood.

"Yohji! Come on, you lazy ass, time for work."

Yohji said he didn't have work today. Aya smiles to himself. He should have known, really. Hardly a shock that Yohji would lie about it--or more likely, he's just forgotten.

The banging comes again, louder. Ken's voice is almost angry now instead of merely loud. "Dammit, Yohji, I've got stuff to do. Will you come on?"

Aya opens his mouth before he can think better of it. "Come in," he says, just loudly enough to carry through the door.

The door opens and bangs against the wall, and Ken stands in the doorway, scowling. "You're still in bed? It's--"

Aya just looks at him.

"Uh..."

"You're gaping, Ken. Close your mouth."

"You're, you, I. I didn't know!"

"Now you do. Shut the door behind you. He'll be down in a few minutes."

Ken nods in giant jerks like someone's pulling his head up and down and shuts the door quickly.

"That was interesting," Yohji says, no longer snoring and sounding not at all sleepy.

"I'm sorry. I didn't stop to think how you might feel about--"

Yohji leans over him and stops his words with a kiss that leaves him breathless and panting when it's over.

"I don't mind. Don't get why you did it, but I don't mind. You think I'd want to keep this a secret?"

"No, I... I didn't want to give myself a chance to back out."

"So because Ken knows, it's official?"

He shakes his head, frustrated. It should be enough that he's committed himself to a course of action that seems more unwise by the minute. He shouldn't have to explain it too.

Yohji lays a warm hand on his side and strokes his skin. "You don't have to answer that. I'm just trying to figure out how your head works. I don't have the best luck with that sometimes."

"I second guess myself. I'll do it with this. I already am. It will be...harder to pretend it never happened if other people know."

"You think I'd let you go that easily?"

"I think it wouldn't take me long to drive you away. I'm not fun to be around at the best of times."

"Exactly." Yohji smiles. "So I know what I'm getting into, right?"

"And the first time I threatened you with my sword?"

"I can take you. Anytime, anywhere, from twenty feet away."

Aya watches Yohji's face, the killer behind the sweet smile. It might be true, if he thought Yohji was capable of hurting him. It makes him laugh a little, the idea of the two of them squaring off. Just a chuckle, but the smile grows and Yohji pulls him close and breathes against his hair.

"You have to work," Aya tells him.

"Don't want to."

"You have to. I'll pick up dinner tonight. What do you want?"

"Never asked that before."

"I never felt well disposed enough towards you to care."

That makes Yohji laugh outright, and Aya turns over to watch him. It's not a bad way to start the day.


End file.
